My Name is Malice

Got totally shut out of all the shows at Theatre Row last night. But it's all right. Had some nice chats with the SPF staffers. Some I'd never even met before.

Arielle Tepper Madover and Ian Madover actually came up to me and talked to me for a little bit. I'd sent Ari a heartfelt thank-you email the night before, and she thanked me for it, and they both talked about how much they enjoyed my show. I'd been trying to screw up the courage to thank her in person all month, so I was happy they approached me. Though, ultimately, I probably came across as the stuttering, insecure fool that I can be...

Last night, as the night before, I stayed at the party long after the crowd had dispersed. I have been feeling a bit self-conscious that I've been haunting that place so much more than any of the other writers. My "cool factor" expired two weeks ago, I fear. But I don't care. I talk to as many people as I can. Whoever wants to talk to me. It's against my introverted nature, but I'm forcing myself to remain in the scene.

I want people to feel my absence.

This year, man. I won't rest. While I was waiting for the shows to let out and for the party to start last night, I sat in the Theatre Row lounge and made notes on the redraft of my new play. It'll be an even tougher sell than BUTCHERHOUSE, but I've made peace with the fact that I've just got to get it properly written, and I'll put it out there, and I'll keep moving. I can write smaller plays. The next one is smaller. And I'll have that next one written out before the year's out. And I'll keep moving.

I am focused. I refuse to become a fucking footnote. I've got nothing going for me save for the fact that I can arrange words on a page. I am utterly alone. My life is a complete wreck that I'm rebuilding, brick by brick, into something new. Nobody can possibly understand what a desperate place I'm in. It makes me more dangerous. Because, in the end, I've got nothing to really care about in this world.

I reckon you can either read that as a suicide note or a death threat. Either way, I won't leave this world without making an impact. Take solace in that, Silent Readers.